


Are We Fated, Faithful, or Fatal ?

by saphique



Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Biphobia, Bisexuality, Canon Lesbian Character, Coming Out, Cycling, F/F, Gay Village, Grief/Mourning, Internalized Homophobia, LGBTQ Themes, Lesbianism, Montreal, Renting furnished apartments, Sabbatical, Slow Burn, Speaking French, Volunteering in a community center
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-11-02 18:30:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10950270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saphique/pseuds/saphique
Summary: Elinor does die. Bernie never existed, yet. Serena goes on a sabbatical in Montréal, bilingual city of festivals, to create distance and mend her grieving heart. She rents a furnished apartment above Bernie Wolfe's in the gay village where she'll eventually end up volunteering at the LGBT community center with her landlord. Serena will learn to accept herself and love anew through compassion, diversity and generosity.





	1. Arrival in Montréal

**Author's Note:**

> 1) English is not my mother tongue. Basically, I wrote everything in French, translated it word by word, and I had the help the FABULOUS and GENEROUS beta bitchenware. All remaining mistakes are mine. Sorry if I'm using American English instead of UK English, I can not really make the difference because I do not really speak any of them so please be gentle. 
> 
> 2) Chapters that may contain triggers will have a warning.
> 
> 3) Yes, the description of Sainte-Catherine street is true. You can search in google pictures "village gai Montréal" and you'll be amazed of how colourful we are ! 
> 
> 4) Also, the address #413 rue Jeanne-Mance does not exist. Don't try to look for it. Jeanne-Mance herself, though, is an emblematic figure of Montréal, as she is the first woman settler to arrive in the city now called Montréal, 375 years ago. 
> 
> 5) Don't forget to check out my little wallpaper to promote this fic at http://archiveofourown.org/works/10899609
> 
> 6) Oh, one last thing, the title comes from a Marilyn Manson song.

There is no hurry. Here, in Serena’s heart, time doesn’t matter. Usually, the only concern related to time is the short period between life and death. In the normal course of events, this is aging. Or, when one works in a hospital, it is the disease. Or, as an unfortunate, it is a fatal accident.

When time has already removed a loved one from the world, disregarding the law of the children surviving their parents, nothing matters. To live in weightlessness, in meaningless mornings, because fatality becomes familiar, something seen and experimented. Living as a sleepwalker, in slow motion, without appetite, without desire, without destination. Surviving the death of one's own child is equivalent to wandering, trying to redefine oneself with words that do not exist. Serena thinks it is no longer useful to worry about the passage of time, the flow of her own life. _Time is a thief_ , people say. _I will try to avert it, to hide under my own cloak of invisibility, at least for the next few years, because I would not survive another fatality hitting a loved one_.

From now on, because of being childless, it is space that becomes important, inevitable, essential. Serena must move away from the bullying and Jasmine, far from Hanssen's tender care, far from Jason's stupor, far from sick bodies and medicine. Far from all that is a reminder, an evocation of Elinor. That's why Serena crosses the Atlantic, without a return ticket. Her stay will be of an indefinite duration, because once again, time does not matter, it is space, distance, dimension that counts. And on unknown ground, without reference, without relation, fatality can not strike.

The plane lands in Montréal. Serena takes a deep breath and hopes to never look back. There is a new world to explore, at her own pace. Not too far away, she knows there is an unexplored Serena, waiting to be discovered, somewhere over the rainbow.

Her destination of choice had to meet specific criteria: being a metropolis open to LGBT culture; had to have a second official language other than English; needs to provide great freedom of travel by public transport; had to propose a large cycling network and year-round cultural activities and festivals. And the most important thing: everything has to be foreign, without any memory. So, Montréal.

Quietly, the passengers get up, gather their luggage from the overhead lockers and queue to leave the plane. How strange, to be surrounded by people who speak both English and French. Serena progresses behind a family who is visibly native from Québec. Its vernacular, everything is a matter of dialect, emphasis on vowels and shortening of certain words. These people actually speak French, yet it is so different from the one Serena learned and heard in France. _Discovering a familiar yet new language will be an excellent distraction_ , she thinks, inwardly smiling to herself.

The moment her foot touches the stilled ground, fatigue strikes her instantly. As if her journey in time and space had just caught up with her. She promises herself not to let any emotion reach the surface, she just wishes to get to the apartment safely and rest. Grief is never too far away, anyhow.

Serena crosses customs without difficulties. She picks up her suitcase, packed with practical clothes, basic sanitary products, a few official papers and brochures and tourist guides about Montréal.

The airport isn't busy, surprisingly. There are a lot of people walking in different directions, she feels like she is the only one taking the time to look around. That feeling of sleep-walking again, as if everything around is surreal, detached from her.

She settles in the large hall, looking for a specific paper in her handbag. She unfolds a document she had printed before leaving. These are the instructions to get from the airport by public transport to the apartment she will be renting for the next three months. More practical, she thinks, to print everything instead of depending on her cellphone, in case the wireless connection fails.

As for the neighborhood, Serena opted for diversity, a change of scenery and anonymity in the city. The chosen apartment is in the heart of the gay village, near the Old Port and the buildings dedicated to the most popular provincial media - the heart of the action. She re-reads the confirmation message written by the landlord, Bernie Wolfe.

            _Serena_

_Here are the directions to get to your new apartment, located at #413 rue Jeanne-Mance :_

_From the airport, take shuttle #747 to the Lionel-Groulx metro station. Take the green line all the way to the metro Beaudry, there is only one exit that leads to your new favorite street: Saint-Catherine. As it’s the summer season, it's currently closed from traffic and dedicated to pedestrians, street artists and restaurant terraces. A word of advice: try not to wander too much, there are plenty of things to see and time will become abstract to you. From there, street Jeanne-Mance is two blocks to your left._

_As agreed, the key will be hidden inside the mailbox. You will find some frozen meals in the freezer, to help you out if hunger calls. I know how exhausting it can be to travel alone and finding something to eat should be the last of your worries. Don't be shy to knock on my door if you have any questions, I'm just below at 411._

_While waiting to meet you, I wish you a nice stay in Montréal._

_Bernie_

The conviviality of this letter warms Serena's troubled heart. Interestingly, in anonymity she likes this familiarity, to be called Serena by an unknown person instead of Ms or Doctor Campbell. This is not the first-time Bernie and she have exchanged words over the website dedicated to renting furnished apartments. This man, Bernie Wolfe, seems to be a versatile and caring person. In this emotional numbness where Serena hides, she fails to understand why it affects her so much. He’s only a landlord, after all.

The bus route is stiff and tiring. What is striking her so much is the humidity. The oscillation between the sun and grey clouds during a single day doesn’t destabilize her, of course, but the humidity! In May? When she looks outside, she often jumps, struck by the realization that the bus is moving on the wrong side of the road. _I'll definitely have to get used to that_.  The landscape linking the rest of the world to the airport is just a highway with warehouses, and orange cones scattered along the way. Nothing exciting. Fortunately, after passing the motorway junctions (in a pitiful state, wait, orange cones again?!), the bus sinks into civilization. The view is sublime on the highest bridge, Serena can observe the various neighbourhoods delimited by the water canals and the wide-ranging type of buildings; the various church bells that point to the sky; the eclectic architecture; and the mountain, Mount Royal. While doing research for her journey, Serena had not noticed that part of downtown was built on the juncture of the mountain.

The bus arrives at its destination, which is the Lionel-Groulx metro. Serena stands on the pavement with her bag and suitcase and observes the surroundings. The street intersection is busy, as much by cars as by buses, cyclists and pedestrians. This is clearly an important junction that leads from one neighbourhood to another. Fortunately, the metro is located in a lovely small park, where tulips are looking bright. Here, her heart speeds up its beating. Finally, life, other than her own, awakens her senses. She can hear sounds that are familiar that aren't from home, back in England. She can distinguish languages that she understands, but that are not quite similar to what she usually hears. She can see comparable ways of doing things, which she does not yet fully master. The air feels dusty. She can smell the newly green grass after a harsh winter, but she also notices the perfume of fruits and vegetables. Very close to the subway entrance, there is a biological farm kiosk. Serena decides she will make her first purchase, and opts for a single apple. Having made her choice, she addresses the saleswoman in French. Smiling, the woman wishes her a pleasant stay. Is it the mixture of the suitcase and her British accent that give the impression that she is travelling? _Or maybe it's my tired face,_ she ponders.

Not surprisingly, the metro is just as uninspired as the trip from the airport, and its also very dirty, but very convenient for travellers and well indicated. After decoding how the metro actually works, Serena understands that she must take the green line towards the final station Honoré-Beaugrand, but she needs to disembark at Beaudry, as planned. The trip is relatively short and Serena notes that some stations are an awful lot more crowded than others. The one before Beaudry is called Berri-UQAM, and as it is noted on the metro map, Berri-UQAM is the central point of the stations. It's also the most crowded, the noisiest and, strangely, it also has its own orange cones indicating construction. Politeness is genuine here, people who are waiting to enter the coach are standing on the sides of the doors, letting people out before entering.

Tiredness becomes heavy to wear. At Beaudry, where Serena gets off the subway, a dozen people have come down at the same station as her, except that she walks significantly more slowly with her suitcase to drag along. She climbs the few stairs before reaching another landing which has so many staircases that there is now an endless long conveyor belt that sweeps up. _This station is bloody deep in the ground!_ Fortunately, she only has to put her feet on the travelator and it takes care of slowly progressing up to the exit. Other people prefer to walk on the travelator instead of remaining still, as if they are in a hurry, _What a relief, this moment of quietness_.

 _Elinor_.

 _No, no, no._ Serena pushes her in the back of her mind, refusing her for now. She desperately needs to get to her apartment before allowing any personal thoughts to infiltrate her psyche.

As the exit approaches, Serena hears music and the joyful racket of voices. _Distraction, yes_.

When she steps outside, it’s not the sun that hits her first; it's an explosion of colours, all the possibility of the spectrum.

She would never have imagined such creativity, nor so much animation. The lampposts are adorned with gay pride flags that float in the wind, multicolored flowers baskets also adorn the sidewalks, and amateur musicians have their groups of admirers. Immense walls are devoted to street art. The restaurant terraces, set in the middle of the street, are crowded with diners. Most surprisingly, there is a set of thousands of plastic bubbles, suspended from right to left across the street, miles away. It’s as if Sainte-Catherine Street lives inside some bubble gum. Yes, gay villages are colourful, yet nothing prepared her to believe that it this particular one would be bathing in a rainbow. Sainte-Catherine is clearly a street of restaurants, night life, fun and little shops.

 _Right, like Bernie mentioned, no wandering. I could stay here for hours. Its wiser to find my new home first_.  Eventually Serena finds Jeanne-Mance, and she is reassured to see that the perpendicular streets are quieter and softer. These are inhabited streets, where people come to rest from their activities and live their personal lives. Surprisingly, old trees with huge trunks also reside here and their shadows create silhouettes on the cement and on the grass. It refreshes the air and soothes Serena's skin.

As in all the cities of the world, the greyness of the bitumen goes alongside the spring green of the trees planted along the pavements. The brick houses, whose range of colours glides from red to beige, fills the horizon of the passer-by. The iron and wood staircases that decorate the facades, in various shapes, straight, curved or spiral, are omnipresent in the urban setting of Montreal. The exterior stairs, more or less worn out, unveil the age of building and the neighbourhood. Serena can hear the noises from Sainte-Catherine fade behind her as she walks up the street to her door number.

#413. As expected, her apartment is on the second and last floor and she needs to walk up a dozen of steps in the exterior spiral staircase, which is complicated with a heavy suitcase and a tired body.

Arriving on the level of her porch, she now has a better point of view to observe the street _. I'll eventually spend some quiet time here_ , she promises herself. A silver maple standing in front of his building offers enough privacy and shadowing.

She turns around and faces the mailbox, plunges her hand inside to retrieve the key in a small envelope. She enters her new home. Her impersonal, noiseless, lonely, temporary home.

 _Elinor_.

Sshhh, she winces. She has things to do, needs to settle in.

The interior is fortunately cooler, since the curtains were kept closed. In the entrance, Serena observes that everything is exactly like what she saw on the website where she made the reservation. The ceilings are high and feature old ceilings, with filigree. There is a long corridor with beige walls which are separated by horizontal borders made of beautiful varnished wood. To her right is an open area, furnished with a shoe-holder, a hook, a cabinet with drawers and a lamp. The first door to the left, also tinted with varnished wood, gives access to the bedroom where the bed is made of freshly washed white sheets and quilt. Serena lets out a groan of contentment at the sight of her bed. An immense window with stained-glass painted in yellow, orange and green diamond-shaped offer diverse shades inside the room. It is very serene, the presence of these soft colours. She leaves her suitcase in this room and goes to visit the rest of the apartment.

Serena takes the corridor leading to a 2nd room on her right, the bathroom with a skylight for natural lighting. Still in the corridor, she opens a third door, this time in front of the bathroom, which leads to a small office equipped with a chair, a lamp and a library where there are a few books. Most are tourism books, others focus on the history of Québec or the LGBT community. There is also a flyer on the various services offered by the neighbourhood community center. After going around this room, Serena heads to the last room, the kitchen, which is not very spacious but very comfortable. All the necessary items (ie stove, refrigerator, pots, cups, glasses, plates, utensils) are provided. The table with two chairs is placed directly next to the large window that leads to the alley.

The rear door also has a large window. From this side of the building, there are fewer trees, Serena sees mostly galleries, fences and stairwells, but she can also see some small improvised gardens on the individual porticos. She leans her head to look at the yard belonging to # 411, downstairs. The yard is delimited by a wooden fence, coloured in grey. The grass looks healthy. There is a chaise longue, a fountain for the birds, but Serena can not see the rest of the courtyard which is hidden by her own gallery. Serena unlocks the door that leads to the backyard, but she can not remember if Bernie had given her access. She does not know if she is permitted to go down the little staircases leading to it.

Serena turns and leans on the door as she contemplates her new home. She feels comfortable and calm. _This will do._

Fatigue, on the other hand, is quickly taking over. Serena decides to go back to the bedroom. She undresses, removes all her clothes and plunges under the blankets and forgets everything about time, relieved to have all this distance between her body, her mind, her heart and her past.


	2. Darkness, Solitude and the Blonde Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my wonderful beta Bitchenware :)

Serena wakes up, eventually. She blinks, and her eyelids have become heavy, as if small grains of sand are lodged beneath them. Looking around, she only sees darkness. Drowsy, she decides to close her eyes again, sailing between sleeping and awakening.

Despite the tranquility, Serena is convinced that she can hear the tinkling of the electrocardiogram, as if it were an ancient and traumatic sound, a wound, which would still resonate against the ramparts of her skull. Everything is blurred, the pixels of her vision are not adjusted. In front of her sleeping self lies a young silhouette, of a suffering whiteness, who is kept alive artificially, intubated to a monstrous flashing machine that roars and flickers.

_Elinor_.

Suddenly, Serena jumps up and lets out a loud gasp, struck hard by the image that was forming in her dream. She finds herself seated in the center of the bed, one hand resting on the mattress to hold herself up, the other grasping at the skin of her chest near her heart. A grimace forms on her face, as the suffering reaches her consciousness. Serena's naked body is covered with perspiration, her memory trying to revive exuberant and insistent emotions through repressed nightmares. On her neck, her short hair sticks to her skin, drowned in sweat. These last few weeks have thinned her body, once so cuddly, chubby and cheerful, now flaccid and malnourished.

When Serena lays her hands on her own body, she no longer recognizes herself, as she does right now, touching her chest and stomach, trying to restrain her mental turmoil and to make sure that she is well awake. The monster that scares her is never too far from her mind.

Disgusted and feeling vertiginous, Serena lets out a long moan and touches her face to massage, stretch, rub – trying in vain to get rid of the pulsation at her temples that muffles her hearing.

Outside, night seems to have fallen on the city because the bedroom is already plunged in darkness. With her trembling legs and her naked body, Serena approaches the window and notices with relief that the twilight is still there; dyeing the weak clouds degraded colours. The streetlights are on, except the sky is not completely black, so it must be close to 9pm.

Gradually, the humidity invades the room as she wakes up more clearly. She decides to open the window and, by the same token, invites all the sounds of the streets of Montréal to penetrate her intimacy. To her surprise, the street is quiet despite the festivities taking place on Sainte-Catherine. Some laughing passers-by walk, some bicyclist wanders. A delicious late spring breeze dries up the tears and perspiration that had lodged in her wrinkles.

She goes back to her bed and sits down, not quite knowing what to do with herself. Seeing her clothes scattered on the floor, she decides to put on her knickers and camisole. Having started to move around, she can sense her stomach grumble. It is time to eat. _Thank God for the food Bernie left me_ , she thought. Serena does not want to turn on the lights. She manages to retrace from memory the short path to her left which leads to the kitchen, but something draws her attention to her right. On the window of the main door, there is a post-it recently affixed.

Not caring for her lack of clothes, Serena slightly opens the door, snakes out her arm to take off the written note and closes the door. Thanks to the light of the lamppost which passes through the tinted window, she can just about read the message.

_I hope that everything is okay for you. You are welcome in the courtyard, if you want to relax. I'll be there tonight.  Bernie_

Bernie's writing is interesting. It’s in block capitals, and the letters have a square shape but also seem slightly unstable. Somewhere in her wounded heart, Serena still appreciates the kindness of strangers. This message draws a small smile to her lips. She folds the message in half but does not destroy it. She brings it with her in the darkness of the apartment, to the kitchen where she leaves it on the counter. Attempting to mentally reconstruct the layout of the room, Serena recalls that there is a light on the counter. She clicks it on and suddenly the kitchen is lit by a soft and low lighting. It creates some shadows here and there. She does not like the outline that her own shadow offers, its reminds her too much of the monster she fears. Her stomach reminds her of hunger, a distraction, so she opens the fridge and pulls out a Pyrex dish, covered with aluminum foil. The same kind of post-it is deposited on top. It reads :

_This is a homemade pâté chinois, a typical Québécois dish. It is recommended with ketchup. It's actually grounded beef, corn and mashed potatoes. You do not have to feel too adventurous; its ancestor is the good old English cottage pie. Otherwise, as agreed, there are frozen meals in the freezer. Enjoy your meal. Bernie._

Bernie seems to be a very attentive and kind man. She retains his note and adds it to the first one, the one inviting her to descend into the courtyard and join him. Deep down, she feels sorry for him, because she is in no mood to socialise.

She opens the cupboard to take a plate and pulls the drawer open to retrieve a fork. It is curious to see so many compartments in the kitchen that are almost empty, filled only to serve a maximum of two people. In realizing this, her current solitude hits her, and passes through her body like an icy chill, almost giving her nausea. She shakes her thoughts off, and goes to the microwave with her dish.

Turning to the side of the microwave, at the end of the counter, Serena notices a bottle of red wine, which also has its own post-it:

_In case of emergency. Bernie._

Unable to contain her laughter, Serena snorts. The sound of her unrecognisable voice instantly makes her shiver, as if she had destroyed a vow of silence which she never promised to maintain, as if she had just pierced a wall of ice that was now crumbling into several pieces. She bites her lip in regret, takes off the third post-it and places it with the others. While the food heats up in the microwave, its aroma fills the room and riles up her hunger. _How lucky to eat a homemade meal,_ Serena thinks.

She takes a seat at the kitchen table. The first bite is comforting. It's creamy, salty, warm, slightly sweet because of the corn. Ketchup will not be necessary.

Suddenly embarrassed by her lack of clothes and by the absence of curtains, Serena decides to shut off the light and eat in the dark, while trying not to think of isolation, unable to figure out whether she enjoys her loneliness or fears it, right now. What counts is the distance between the present and the past, between the familiar and the unknown.

While chewing her meal, she thinks of Bernie's invitation. On this, she leans towards the window and tries to look down, over the gallery.

In the courtyard of the ground floor, where Bernie lives, is a magnificent garland of fairy lights of a yellowish coloration that makes the complete tour of the wooden fence. On the ground, there are a few solar bulbs planted in the grass that create small paths leading to the chaise-longue Serena saw earlier this afternoon. This time, there is a second chaise-longue, right next to the first. The adjacent courtyards are not too busy or too loud, the whole world seems to revolve around this particular one with its relaxing and warm atmosphere.

Attracted by this scene, Serena decides to leave the chair and to sit on the windowsill, her unidentified self sheltered by the darkness of her apartment. She opens the window, letting in the sounds of the night, the chirping of a few locusts and the voices of some distant neighbors. As she sets her dish down on her thigh and settles comfortably, she continues to admire the soothing scenery. Serena notices that a person enters the yard, holding a cup in their hand. This person advances to the end of the yard, where the two chairs are placed, and sits on one of the chaise-longue.

It is a woman.

It seems that Bernie has company. Another reason, a better excuse, not to join him in the yard.

His visitor is a woman with blonde hair, light-coloured to the point that it almost reflects the warm luminosity of the fairy lights. Her hair is slightly messed up, but she wears it well. She looks pleasantly nonchalant. In the damp warmth of the night, the woman wears a white blouse, buttoned at the level of her chest. She seems to have a black camisole on underneath, the same color as her skinny jeans. At this distance, she seems to have a pronounced nose, which gives her a majestic elegance. The woman takes a sip from her cup, lays it on the table between the two chairs, before lying down. The vision astonishes Serena, because her legs are remarkably long, and also quite fascinating. The woman is now lying down in the chair, slightly inclined backwards, which means Serena currently has a perfect view of her face, although still too far to perceive it perfectly. She looks content and relaxed.

Serena does not know how long she has been watching this woman, because when she takes another bite of her pâté chinois, it has already cooled down. Feeling lazy and captivated, she does not want to heat it up, she does not want to move. All that interests her is the tranquility of the landscape she admires.

Serena wonder why Bernie lets this woman wait alone in the yard for so long. Perhaps he is preparing something to snack?

Lost in her reveries, Serena does not realize right away that the blonde woman raised her head in the direction of the 2nd floor, of her apartment. _Does she see me_? Serena wonders. Does she look up at the starry sky to admire the clouds, lightly colored by the twilight? The blonde woman does seem to be glancing expectably at something higher, as if she is waiting for something.

Intimated and feeling shameful for her voyeurism, Serena takes her plate with her and decides to leave Bernie and that blonde woman to their evening, even though she is curious to see what he looks like.

Unaffected by the immense hunger that is still rumbling in her stomach, Serena puts her half-eaten dinner on the counter, close to Bernie's three messages, and opts for a shower, to clean her body of all physical and mental injuries and impurities, wishing to keep away from and avoid as much as possible the monster that sleeps.

The bathroom is tiny. The bath makes the length of the room and the skylight is positioned directly above, which she finds strange. The toilet seat and sink are so close to each other that it is possible to wash hands while sitting on the bowl. Bernie equipped the room with a bath towel, washcloth, lavender hand soap and a coconut body soap. Serena is going to have to buy the rest, like toothpaste and shampoo.

After grasping the working of the shower, Serena activates the water, without even choosing between the cold or hot temperature. Neither of them disturbs her. Serena pulls off her panties and camisole and steps into the bath, places herself under the running water and lets herself be immersed under the downfall that takes possession of her body and her mind. Here, there is no Jasmine looking at her with a terrorized stare, there is no Jason who begs her to stop shouting, there are no hospital beds, neither blood nor surgical instruments. The soap smells nice, Serena finds that she smells like an outsider in her own body, as she never used that scent before.

She dries herself and leaves the bathroom. Still in the dark, she returns to the room, opens her suitcase and pulls out her pajamas, which is actually another camisole and light cotton pants. Having suddenly pity for the pâté chinois left on the counter, she decides to go back to the kitchen to at least put it back in the fridge.

It is only in the kitchen that Serena notices that the lights are still lit in Bernie's yard. Curious, she looks at the clock on the stove. It says 10:45 pm.

Approaching the still half-open window, Serena takes a peek downstairs and looks back outside. The mysterious blonde woman is still there, alone with her single cup of coffee, dormant on the chaise longue. Her cup is still alone, neglected, placed the table near her. No sign of Bernie, nor the dishes he might have left behind. Probably he was at the woman's side while she was showering.

The woman seems asleep, lulled by the passage of clouds and the brilliance of the moon.

Coincidentally, it is at this precise moment that the woman happens to wake up, and decides to sit up, slowly. She seems to have a sore back, because she places a hand and stretches to straighten it. She probably didn’t want to fall asleep like that. The blonde gets up, leans over the second chaise longue to fold it and store it in the corner of the yard. Serena is distracted by the length of her legs, by the strength in her arms and by the assurance in each of her movements. The woman comes back, grabs her cup, and step by step returns to the ground floor door, and suddenly the whole court is plunged into the darkness. Only the solar lights remain slightly visible to remind Serena of the existence and the passage of this beautiful woman.

Tonight, the monster does not visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Serena needs to be careful with names, gender, pronoms ;-) Especially if she plans to stay in the Gay Village, don't worry she will know it soon enough


	3. Coffee, Flags and Bicycle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unpleasant situations were holding me back from updating this story, my apologies.   
> This chapter is not beta read, all mistakes are mine so please if you notice something, let me know and I'll correct it.   
> And yes, the coffee-shop "1000grams" does exist if you ever travel to Montréal and wish to visit.

After a soft night in the arms of slumber, the city of Montréal wakes up to the rhythm of the sunrise. For a neighbourhood located in the center of the metropolis, the city animals are nevertheless quite present and go about their occupations in animating the city. At 413 Jeanne-Mance street, the brunette is still asleep, reassured by uneventful slumber. Naked, protected by cleaned white sheets, Serena bears a resemblance to those exposed statues of marble in museums, whose body at rest seems appeased of all torment. The breeze that passes through the room, drifting through the opened window, makes her short hair waft, like an affectionate caress. It is the arrival of a black-winged blackbird, placed in the silver maple located on the front ground, that entices her attention and wakes her up. As soon as Serena snaps her eyes open, her sleeping mind is instantly anguished. Her usually caring pupils become round and black, and her facial expression constricts as her heart tightens in her chest, overwhelmed by a deep sadness that is impossible to repress, as it happens every morning that comes without Elinor.

So many contradictory thoughts pass through Serena's head. What is the use to continue to love, to accumulate new and innocent days, if these serve to distance her even further from Elinor, from the period when Elinor was alive? Why continue waking up every morning in order to create more distance between the old Serena, mother and surgeon, and the current one she does not know yet? Simply because she is a woman of science, a woman of curiosity and exploration. The acceleration and aggravation of her depression made her go through obscure paths, dangerous, maddening, tormenting, leading to her eventual death. On the roof of the hospital, Serena remembera, at that time, that the option of suicide became the most logical and desirable choice.

Fortunately, providence became an ally and had send over, as if fated, Icarus, the pigeon, who came to visit Serena on the roof. Icarus reminded her that we are not imprisoned on the ground, that we are not condemned by invisible roots, that there is so much distance to allow us to abandon the desolate choice of suicide. The pigeon's accompanying presence managed to comfort her and show her that she could easily fly away, figuratively of course, and leave behind the echo of her ghosts. Serena has the right to start her life again, without judgment or remorse. Her curious and studious nature has distanced all thoughts connected with suicide, too tempted to fill new opportunities the years of existence that remain. Why bother staying alive if its not to find clarity, serenity and meaningful stories?

More importantly, how can one person continue to live without rediscovering self-love and acceptance, without recognizing its own identity, without being able to accept itself without remorse ?

When Serena thinks about her dear and last patient, Dorothy, who died under her supervision, in her hands when she was responsible for her survival, Serena holds back tears of regret. But thinking of Dorothy also gives her a seemingly inexhaustible force, not just because Dorothy was an eccentric person who loved life, but mainly because her words sparked a revolution, liberation, relief, inside Serena's being. Serena still remember the anecdote when Dorothy was simply talking about her own name and oysters, and that led her to talk about lesbians, for obscure reasons. As soon as Dorothy said the word lesbian out-loud, the grey-haired lady looked straight at the brunette in an eloquent way. Something strong instantly clicked inside Serena. Never again Serena is going to hide or to repress. Never again will the others assume her own sexuality before she even had a chance to discover it herself.

Indisputably, she left her job and her surgical career despite the fact that there was nothing else in her life, nothing else than the promise of distance. Serena thinks it is good to concentrate on her own person, on all the reveries that followed her throughout her life, on all the possibilities that she has refused in her lifetime. It's truly why she encouraged the maximum of distance between her past, Holby and the death of her daughter in order to have the possibility, without remorse, without judgment, without distraction, to pursue that spark that once sprang in her mind, that traversed her body and remain lodged in her heart. Serena has made the decision to remain alive to follow the inclinations too long repressed, even in this time of mourning; her attraction to women.

Montréal is a world-renowned city for its openness to homosexuality, and in recent years it has become a hub for all issues related to gender identity, sexual orientation, inclusion of trans, non-binary, intersex and queer people. Here, Serena hopes to have the opportunity to dive into this world, learn more about herself, find a source of comfort and find a way to give back to the community.

These thoughts are moving at a fast pace, too quickly for the taste of a woman who has just woken up in a foreign city. In any case, this mania of over-analyzing, of anxiety, of cogitation, will not disappear overnight. On this, Serena stroke her cheeks gently with opened palms, to stimulate the animation of her face and to revive some colours. She stretches her mouth to wake up, and pulls out the blankets all at once.

_Bloody hell._

Is there coffee in this apartment? Serena tries to visualize the emails exchanged between Bernie and her about what was included in the lease. With fright, she does not remember tackling the subject of coffee.

_Oh, god!_

With resignation, Serena gets out of bed, with drooping shoulders and heavy step.

However, surprising herself, Serena is smiling. A tired smile somehow lost in the depths of her emotional state, but it is very real at the corners of her mouth. It will be a pleasant day. But for now, coffee is required.

With disheveled hair and a slow gait, Serena leaves the bedroom. The morning lighting is very generous, but what seduces Serena the most are the shady leaves of the silver maple that dance against the walls of the front room. She takes the corridor and goes to the kitchen where the clock shows 8:42 am. With an automatic gesture, she touches each of Bernie's post-it with gentle fingertips, as if to prove that they were well present yesterday. Before feeling a pre-caffeine migraine, Serena starts her exploration, opens the cabinets in search of coffee. Most shelves and drawers are empty, there is only the essential as agreed.

Still standing in front of the opened cupboard she is holding open with both hands, Serena turns her head towards the bottle of red wine offered by Bernie, patiently waiting on the counter and Serena thinks that it’s a very generous gift.

_Well, it's time to go and do a little grocery shopping._

After quickly brushing her hair, washing her face, donning a pair of trousers and a clean blouse, Serena takes her bag with a detailed map of the neighbourhood and she goes on an expedition for food and caffeine.

\----

Compared to yesterday when she arrived in the lively crowd of the afternoon, the Gay Village is quiet this morning. It seems uninhabited but regrettably polluted with papers and cigarette butts. At least, this quietness gives her the opportunity to better observe the multicoloured decorations. They manage to make her smile, a true smile that shows her beautiful teeth, that makes her eyes sparkle and forms happy lines alongside her mouth. Her facial muscles become almost painful, unaccustomed to work this way.

At the corner of a street, she notices an eccentric building. A restaurant of some kind. The facade is ornamented with huge sculptures of immense faces, drag queen style, that serve as front to present the name of the coffee shop named "1000 grams". The huge retractable windows are open, there is no real distinction between the terrace and the interior of the restaurant, since the eclectic tables and the mismatched chairs are installed randomly but functionally. There are jars of flowers on the ground and suspended plants, in addition to the flamingo shaped lamps and other curious designs. At the counter, the employee serves croissants to two customers who are sitting close to the cake display and candy racks.

_No wonder this is called 1000 grams_.

Serena comes to the counter, politely smiles at the employee, a slender, effeminate young man with tattooed arms. Without even thinking about it, Serena places her command in English, with her British accent and her husky morning voice. She asks for a full-bodied filter coffee, to go.

"Oh, that's a beautiful accent," the man responds with fascination and with too much enthusiasm for such an early time.

  
Without understanding his compliment, Serena simply holds her smile. In front of her confused look, the employee prepares the order. Serena prepares Canadian money (she is always surprised to see the Queen's face on the $ 20 bills). After paying, she wishes him a good day and returns to the street. She carries the cup to her lips and thinks she might relive as soon as the coffee touches her tongue.

_Oh, what a delight_!

  
It is only once outside that Serena remembers that she is on French territory and it's particularly one of the reasons why she has chosen in this city. Yes, most people are bilingual, but Serena wanted to make the effort to practice French. A first clumsiness mistake.

Now full of caffeine, Serena prepares her itinerary. From her bag, she pulls out the map that indicates the closest grocery store. It's the Rachelle Béry market, a healthy, organic and mostly vegetarian grocery store, located just a few blocks away. As she walks up the street, Serena raises her head to admire the garlands of thousands pink orbs and cannot help to smile again. As she is looking up, she also notices that the street lamps are adorned of flags with quotations. The sun hurt her eyes a little, she needs to put the palm of her hand above her eyebrows to be able to read the sentence inscribed there. On one of the vertical flags is a quote from Nicole Brassard, a Quebec author, who says: "a lesbian who does not reinvent the world is a lesbian in the process of disappearing."

It takes a few reads for Serena to truly grasp that meaning. She finds that she must look ridiculous, motionless in the middle of Sainte-Catherine, pedestrian but empty of walkers, on this sunny morning. There is something profound in this sentence. It makes her simultaneously feel heavy, as if it were a stone pushing her further into the ground, but it also makes her feel light, relieved ... Who would have thought that hardly 24 hours after her arrival, she would already be shaken by phrases of unforgettable lucidity? Not fully ready for philosophical thoughts, Serena untangles herself from this moment and continues her walk up to the store.

That's when another person crosses her path. Behind her, Serena hears the delicate noises of a bike approaching. A cyclist passes slowly to her left, a blond-haired woman whom Serena instantly recognizes. Serena believes she will always be able to recognize this woman, no matter the context or location, because of her slender, distinguished silhouette, her majestic allure and the confidence in all her movements, but above all, it's because the nebulous emotions she provokes in Serena's being. It is Bernie's friend from last night.

This blonde woman rolls by Serena, gets off the bike and by the desires of a surprising destiny, she locks it in front of Rachelle-Béry market.

 


End file.
